


The Khan

by ActuallyAndroid



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Casual Sex, F/M, Obsession, Pining, Reader-Insert, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8420374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActuallyAndroid/pseuds/ActuallyAndroid
Summary: He wants full stops but all he finds are semi-colons.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by Mike Snow's Genghis Khan.

Zen can't do anything. He watches you talk with him, the other man. He's tall. Attractive. Rich too, to boot (at least judging from the Ferrari he puts you into).  
He can't ask you where you’re going.

His mind is a fresh split, a melding between two warring sides: one of which held a mood-board of your smiles, your movements, your finger, lips that were probably on someone else right now - and the other, which had a continuous cycle of a string of words, phrased slightly differently with each repetition.

"Don't think about her; You don't have the right."

He finds himself almost convinced, until the thought of that man dragging you to bed in the same way he did floods his mind and he has to muffle his groans into the pillow.

His legs kick at the air.

How dare he? Is a booming angry voice in his head. You’re his, he thinks, but he knows you’re not.

To you, Zen is a toy. A pile of scrounged and repressed human emotions at the end of something you can put inside you every so often. He wants to say you are the same to him. That the only emotions he feels for you start at the base of his pelvis and end at the tip of his dick.

It's not true.

He loves you. He knows he loves you, he has to. Every bit of him wants to have you to himself, and the deep seated rage he feels when he is witness to you taking someone else's hand do not fit into the shoes of a jealousy a man has for a fling.

He's only really happy when you’re there, he's noticed on multiple occasions.  
When he touches himself, it's always to to you. He's tried a couple times, thinking of other women - but after thirty minutes of a half hard dick, he gives up and starts rolling his hips in time to what he can remember of your moans.

He wants to say it. Wants to go over to you and say, "I want you to be mine, and no one else's," but his voice fails miles before the sentence even gets to his throat.

What if you leave him? Reject him? Say you're there for the sex and it's his fault for getting too attached?

He's not sure his heart can take the mere thought. The only time when he feels like a complete human being is with you in his arms.

His skin prickles at his biceps, and he tries to remember for next time to etch the feel of you on them deep into his memory.

 

* * *

 

 

Next time comes a week later.

His hands are tightly wound around your waist. He needs to know you’re really there, that the way the bed dimples about your weight will not disappear the next morning.

He can imagine it now, and his senses run with it: suddenly he feels the cold splay of the air hitting his bare chest without yours to cover it; the weightlessness in his arms where your head used to be.

It hurts.

His grip around you tightens, because yes you're there, yes you're there.

"Zen."

He’s become more clingy lately - up to the point it’s become difficult to deny. There are not many partners that place more emphasis on the aftercare than the sex itself, and while it makes you feel nice, there's an unsettling churning in your stomach telling you that it means something you're not quite sure you want to unpick.

“Ah, sorry. Did I hurt you?”

Your ribs feel a little sore, but it’s not a pain that does not bring comfort.

“No.”

“Good,” he mumbles into your hair, nuzzling into it. Your skin prickles where he leaves kisses.

You should mention it, you think. It's not fair on him to leave it.

The muscles in your shoulders tense, and you ready yourself to turn around. The only problem lies in your tongue, which is lazy and hates movement. It sits, very still at the floor of your mouth.

Zen speaks before you will it to move.

"Babe... will you be here in the morning?"

Your chest hurts. If your tongue ever had plans of moving, the pain whisks them away.

"Would you stay? One day is all I'm asking for. I just want to feel like the only person who has you for one day."

It twist your heart into pieces. His need is apparent. It's not a desire, as much as it a genuine necessity. He's a jumbled mess of Maslow's pyramid, and his body needs you like food, like the blood that keeps his heart moving.

"Do you really want me, though? Or do you just want no one else to have me?"

It comes out more bitter than you would have liked it to. You can’t help it, there are many other times you'd been asked the same thing in different words, only to have it turn into a relationship where the only consistent feeling the other person had for you was lumped together from bits and pieces of jealousy.

“Both,” he answers, and his voice is so resolute the vibrations still linger on your shoulder. ‘I love you, and I’d do anything you want me to,’ he wants to continue, but it stays in his throat.

‘I would do anything for you to be mine,’ but he’s sure you know that already.

‘Please stay,’ but you wouldn’t respond.

‘Marry me,’ but it would scare you.

Despite his wants, he lets you continue instead.

“I’ll stay the night then.”

It's not enough to satisfy him by a slim margin.

Zen wants you to punctuate it somehow: tightly wrap your hands around his in a comma, then kiss his knuckles in a full stop; run your fingers through his hair in circles that look a little like neat dots in an ellipsis. Instead, all he feels is the silence. Something that drags punctuation around, grabs the full stop from under his nose and waves it in front of his eyes, mashing it with a comma into a semi-colon.

He can never forget that after every night there is one that comes after, but as long as you're here, he'll try his best.


End file.
